It’s the end of the work day like the end of any other work day. Turn off the computer, pack up the briefcase, put on the jacket, turn out the light, and walk quickly down the hall to the entrance door in the building lobby.
I glance at my watch. I have, perhaps, just enough time to get ahead of the swath of traffic that will soon clog the southbound streets. A normal commute home is 15 minutes. Many days, however, it’s 30 and 40 and 45. If you hit the traffic just right, it will be the normal 15.
I come out of the entrance of the building and turn toward the parking lot. I work in a campus-like setting – buildings no more than three stories tall. The time is approaching dusk.
That’s when I glance up. And I am struck so dumb that I literally stop in my tracks, all thoughts of beating the traffic gone.
To continue reading, please see my post today at The High Calling.
oh...i can't help but think just
how beautiful that sky painting was
and how you hurried outside
without knowing that was the reason.
this reminds me of the
many things that we can not see,
that we can not plan for, that will be
the grace gift that is needed for that moment.
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